


A Wild Fic Has Appeared

by blindbatalex



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Borussia Dortmund, Crack, Humor, M/M, Manchester United, Pokemon - Freeform, Pokemon GO - Freeform, Young Love, i kid you not, very awkward flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/pseuds/blindbatalex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (highly imaginary) account of what the United team did to make Mou ban Pokémon Go. I may have accidentally shipped my two favorite young players in the process.</p><p>"No sooner had Mou left the dressing room than Young declared a state of emergency. He held up his phone for everyone to see Kagawa’s screenshot and said, dead serious, 'A Dragonite guys, there is a fucking Dragonite in BVB’s dressing room. We need to catch it. But we absolutely can’t let it on to BVB.'”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wild Fic Has Appeared

**Author's Note:**

> If we are to believe newspapers Mou recently banned Pokémon Go for 48 hours before each game. Needless to say it's already head cannon for me. Fic set right after the Manchester United-Borussia Dortmund 2016 preseason friendly in Beijing. AU where everyone who needs to speak English for plot purposes speaks English.
> 
> I was having a conversation with mm_nani about how Pokémon Go could become the new coffeeshop AU because of the sheer amount of romance plot possibilities around it and that conversation somehow turned into this fic in my head. 
> 
> I also downloaded the said game for 'research purposes' and now I'm addicted. I have no regrets.
> 
> Beta and inspiration credit goes to mm_nani, as always.

No sooner had Mou left the dressing room than Young declared a state of emergency. He held up his phone for everyone to see Kagawa’s screenshot and said, dead serious, “A Dragonite guys, there is a fucking Dragonite in BVB’s dressing room. We need to catch it. But we absolutely can’t let it on to BVB.” 

At Young’s words all ten of the team’s Pokémon Go contingent stopped what they were doing and formed a semicircle to discuss tactics, throwing around ideas in loud, excited voices. Marcus watched with amusement as they came up with a ‘brilliant’ plan in under a full minute. Since Micki and Januzaj played they were both more than willing to go say hi to their old team (for the third time that day) and casually catch the pokémon for everyone while they chatted. Shorts may not have pockets to hide multiple phones, but training jackets did, and it was reasonable that they got cold given the air conditioning. BVB would have no idea that half the United team were anxiously waiting for their dragonites back in the dressing room.

Marcus understood why his former teammates from the U18s or even U21s would be swept up in a game meant for children. He had no idea, however, why a group of grown up men playing for the best club in the world would act like their lives depended on catching a dragon creature and make fools of themselves in the process. Especially after losing a high profile friendly 4-1. As much as he said he wasn’t going to interfere, Marcus couldn’t help himself when he saw how ridiculous Micki and Januzaj looked in training tops bulging with five phones each.

“You cannot carry five phones in your pockets. You’ll make fools of us all!” he said, and immediately regretted opening his mouth, when he found ten pairs of eyes staring at him. Good thing he had enough self-preservation to omit _didn’t we already do that on the pitch just now?_

“Actually,” Micki said, thoughtful, “you are right. If you came with us the task would be much easier and quicker.”

The group quickly took to this idea and before Marcus could say anything he was fitted with a training top. He really had brought this upon himself.

“Wait,” he managed as Micki shoved four phones at him. “I don’t know anyone there. How am I supposed to explain why I tagged along?”

Here they were silent for a while and Marcus could almost see the wheels turning in his teammates’ heads. He held out some small hope that they’d fail to come up with an explanation --seeing as there wasn’t any--and let him be.

“What’s that kid’s name?” Mata asked just as Marcus thought they were giving up, “More-something? Young forward, Turkish, we kept mowing him down?”

“Emre Mor?”

“Yes. Him. He’s very similar to our Rashford. I’m sure they would have a lot to talk about.”

“I mean they did both shoot to fame recently,” Herrera concurred, “and they are both kinda amazing.”

“Also the same age,” Carrick said.

“Add to that the only bright spots in two terrible international campaigns” De Gea said and brought some heckles but it did not take long for them to get back to business. Now that the group was now intent on weaving Marcus into their brilliant plan, there was no going back. So much for holding out hope. 

In the end it was decided that Marcus would congratulate Emre Mor on his debut with BVB and then ‘find something to talk about while he casually caught four dragonites.’

Just as he predicted none of his protests worked and soon he was in the BVB dressing room trying not to think of the outrageous conversation ideas the Spaniards had come up with. He was pretty sure Mor would not appreciate their “If you were to murder one person, marry one person and fuck one person in the national team who would they be?” game as an icebreaker.

“Um, hi” he said when Micki finally lost his patience and shoved him towards the man. He had been in mid-sentence, engaged in an excited conversation with the older player next to him, and now regarded Marcus with a mixture of surprise and irritation. He was also shirtless and had delightful olive skin glistening faintly with sweat. Marcus kept his gaze on Mor’s (lovely brown) eyes, took a deep breath and strung everything he was supposed to say together.

“I, um, I wanted to come with Micki and Adnan to congratulate you on your debut with BVB because you were great, really and I am sorry we kept pulling you down and I know you will--”

“Whoa, slow down,” Emre Mor said, “I don’t understand when you talk so fast. You came to talk to me?” 

Right. Mancunian. Marcus tried again, talking more slowly this time and doing his best to dial down the accent. He felt himself blush when he noticed a bruise forming on the Mor’s side, because his team--his friends--were responsible for it. In the end Mor still looked very confused, and it was unnerving that his friend would not stop looking at Marcus with open amusement. Still Mor accepted his congratulations and apology and even flashed a small, crooked smile and said Marcus wasn’t bad either. He also told Marcus to call him Emre and it was such a pretty name he really did not mind it very much. 

Thinking of the business on hand brought him back to his senses. Air conditioning or not, he was sweating in his training top, and it was quite uncomfortable standing in front of this lad and his friend who was now flat out grinning. The sooner he caught the dragon creature four times the sooner he could throw himself into a United shower and never think of these few minutes ever again. 

The moment he fished out the first phone, muttering about the dragonite and how addictive the game was Emre stood up and walked to his side. “You play too?” Emre asked, “it’s so cool to find a rare pokémon right in our dressing room!” He was still shirtless and Marcus was still sweating. “Right?” he offered weakly, and thought of Young’s instructions. _Point the phone and throw poké balls at the thing._ He could absolutely do it regardless of whether there was an attractive young man staring over his shoulder. He ignored Emre’s commentary on his-- _ahem, Carrick’s_ \--level, character and team, and clicked on the pokémon. Now for the pointing and throwing.

“Wow,” Mor said after the seventh pokeball that went hopelessly to the side, “how are you even level fifteen with that throw?”

“Carrick--um--he, he wanted to play on my phone for a bit and, and the next thing I know I am level 15!” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“He plays? He’s so old though. I mean not old--but, you know. Um, anyway, do you want me to teach you how to throw?”

“Yes,” he said, keeping his cool despite the very distracting sight of Emre’s blushing cheeks, “That would be lovely,” 

It did not help the matters when Emre’s hand brushed against his as he took over Carrick’s phone. His head snapped towards the shorter man with pure instinct at the contact and to his surprise he found Emre returning his gaze. He looked as though he wanted to say something (definitely not like he wanted to kiss Marcus though, because that would be letting his imagination run too far) but the moment was broken when the friend snickered on the bench.

“Nuri abi!” Mor exclaimed, attention no longer on Marcus. The older man--Nuri Şahin was it?-- held his hands up in defence, trying to look somber but whatever he said in that strange-sounding language, _Turkish,_ it only served to make Emre blush further. That in turn meant even more sweating for Marcus. Emre may have noticed because the first thing he said when turned his attention back on Marcus was “right, um don’t you feel too hot in that jacket?” 

“No,” Marcus said, trying not to panic, “We uh, we get cold easily at Manchester United. It must be the climate.” 

That they were both avoiding eye contact now was great, because Marcus did not want to look anyone in the eye ever after having uttered that sentence. On the other hand Emre seemed to share his penchant for the awkward. His teammates would be proud of yet another similarity. 

“Shall we get back to it?” he said for the lack of anything more profound.

A few minutes later, they had caught the Dragonite and Marcus’ throw no longer sucked so miserably. As the other man explained the rules with enthusiasm and that gorgeous smile of his, Marcus began to understand what everyone saw in the game. Emre’s enthusiasm was so contagious that had he been talking about the geology of Danish mountains, Marcus would still listen with the same interest. He wondered what ignited Emre’s passion other than pokémons--now that was a conversation topic. If he only didn’t have three more Dragonites to catch.

“So, ahem I have another phone,” he started, deciding to explain the other two only if he had to--one step at a time. “Can we catch it on that one too?”

Emre gave him a you-are-a-strange-one-aren’t-you look but did not complain. Not until Marcus threw him the phone anyway.

“Oh my god--is that--what’s her name, Edurne, on your lock screen? As in your goalkeeper’s girlfriend?” he said, incredulous. 

_De Gea’s phone._ No.

Dreading what he’d see Marcus risked a glance at the phone screen.

Sure enough, there Edurne was, standing on the beach in nothing but a bikini and leaning forward to blow the camera a seductive kiss. As far as Emre was concerned Marcus had chosen a smoking hot picture of his teammate’s girlfriend as his background. This was not happening. Or rather it was, and he had to do something fast before Emre wrote him off as a creepy pervert for once and all.

“She’s not Edurne!” he blurted out, “Just looks like her. Crazy coincidence really. We laugh about it all the time. Seeing as she is--she is my girlfriend!”

“Oh.”

 _Did you just really say you had a girlfriend to the cutest guy who for some unknown reason kinda likes you back?_ a very judgmental voice in his head supplied, _Stick to scoring goals and seriously consider taking a vow of silence Rashford._ Marcus did his best to ignore the voice and try and fix what he had just done.

“It's nothing serious!” he said, “besides you are hotter than her anyway!”

 _Vow of silence_ the judgmental voice said, _it will be a public service to the world._

Emre’s mouth dropped and his eyebrows shot up to the roof but he recovered quickly. “You,” he said, pointing an exasperated finger at Marcus, “are the strangest man I have ever met. Um, anyway you know how to throw poké balls now so if you don't mind I'm heading to the shower. Thanks for the compliment--I think.” He made to turn but stopped halfway. Marcus wondered if he had somehow changed his mind, understood what a misunderstanding this has been and seen Marcus’ feelings for what they-- 

“Here,” Emre said picking up a rather atrocious yellow-and-black jersey, “you should have this.”

 _His debut jersey,_ he thought, clutching the sweaty fabric close to his heart, _no Emre please come back (or take me to the shower with you.)_

Ignoring the colorful images that came with the second line of thought Marcus quickly considered his options. Consequences be damned--even though Young made sure he understood the consequences of crossing his ‘elders’ when he joined the first team--, he was going to come clean and fight for his chance.

“Wait!” he said, grabbing Emre’s arm. The shorter man turned around but judging by the glare he sent Marcus’ way, he was running out of patience. Marcus made an effort to speak as slowly and clearly as his pounding heart would allow. 

“That is Edurne--not my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend. Look!” He fished the other three phones out of his pockets.

If anything Emre looked even more skeptical now. “So, you have four phones and a weird thing for your goalkeeper’s girlfriend? Good for you?” he asked, unimpressed.

“No. Don’t you understand? It’s the bloody Dragonite! They were too embarrassed to come here, and for good reason given those four goals, so they sent Miki and Adnan and told me to ‘go chat with that Mor kid!’ Dave is just a mushy boyfriend. To Edurne, obviously, not to me!”

Thankfully of everything he had said, Emre picked up the most important point as he simply said “You are single then? No girlfriend?”

“Yes! Very much so!”

Brownie points to both of them for not failing at communication for once.

“So that’s why you are wearing those ridiculous jackets, eh? Regretting your move yet?”

“Exactly! Wait, what move?”

Marcus’ family hadn’t moved anywhere since he was five. He was also pretty sure Emre didn’t have an East Asian accent. He whipped around to see Kagawa grinning at Micki, _who by the way had just moved to United_. Oh. Also, the entire BVB dressing room was eyeing their United trio with wicked amusement in their eyes and Micki and Januzaj were sending him death glares. 

“The entire room just heard that, didn’t they?” Marcus asked quietly, dread for what was to come already settling in his stomach.

“Yup,” Aubameyang grinned, “we all did. Who would have thought--mighty United sending Miki and two kids to the enemy’s den for a Dragonite? Right after a humbling defeat. Tsk tsk tsk, kid what would your old man Fergie say?” 

In response someone (Rode?) said something in German Marcus didn’t understand. He saw there was no need for words though, because Rode was soon playing a video of Marcus’ declaration and the room was cracking up with laughter like a pack of hyenas. Kagawa was already making a move for Miki’s jacket whereas Januzaj had slowly started to back away towards the door. 

Marcus meanwhile was too dumbstruck to say or do much when he felt a strong arm wrap around his shoulder. “Rashford,” the owner of the arm--Nuri Şahin singsonged, “come here my man. That was stupid but also kinda brave.” He slung his other arm around Emre. “Now we have established that you are single,” he said looking at Marcus with a grin that was somehow even wider than before, “and this one wouldn’t know what a girlfriend was if you hit him in the head with it. You should have dinner. I’m thinking...Chinese. I’ll be happy to drive and Auba--”

Emre cut him off with a stern, “Nuri abi, no!” and shrugged the older man off. “No?” Marcus repeated sounding, he realized with horror, very much like a hurt kitten.

Now it was Emre who was speaking quickly, cheeks stained a deep red and gaze alternating between Şahin, Marcus and the floor. “I mean, you can’t drive us! I am not subjecting poor Marcus to you or to Auba from the first day! We both know he will suffer enough in your hands when he visits Dortmund.” Realizing what he just said he stopped for a second and carded his hand through his already messy hair. Then he picked it back up at an impossible pace. “If. If he were to ever come to Dortmund that is. Not that he has to. Or wants to. There isn’t that much to do there anyway. And the weather--” 

Marcus was definitely not letting him babble on because he found it weirdly attractive. He really was just about to end the man’s misery when a loud and authoritative “What the hell is happening here?” did it in his place. The three of them turned towards the source, as did the rest of the room to see Mourinho and Tuchel standing at the door with mirroring expressions of discontent.

“They were here for the Dragonite?” Rode said to Mou in a thick German accent, trying to sound as innocent as possible, but Mou was having none of it. Marcus had only worked with the man for a few weeks but so far he had never his coach so furious. When his ‘elders,’ especially Mata had warned him to beware of Mou’s fury this was probably what he had in mind. “You three,” he said, “with me. Now.”

There was so much Marcus wanted to say to Emre, ranging from _yes I absolutely agree with your friend that we should have dinner_ to _can I please visit you in Dortmund next week?_ to _did you know the showers at the hotel have amazing water pressure and can easily fit two people?_ but there was no time. He tossed one of the phones to Emre and said “My number is in there somewhere! Dinner!” just as Miki was dragging him out the door. The owner of the phone would probably threaten to poke his eyes out with chopsticks, but hey wasn’t that what the entire team had in mind at this point? The least he could do was to secure the the dinner date he had worked so hard for.

A few hours later he was riding on a packed subway in a red suit covered in shiny scales, not to mention the obnoxious Bayern Munich t-shirt, clutching a flip phone. Sure, this outfit and his missing wallet would not be the end of the team’s revenge mission, and sure losing his smartphone for a week sucked. (“Technology only deserved to be used by people mature enough to handle it” Mou had said.) And yet here he was heading to a restaurant for a date because a stupid dragon had appeared in the most unlikely location and Mata and co. had played the matchmaker without having any idea of what they were doing.

His phone made strange noises and he struggled for a bit to figure out why. Then he realized that was how the archaic device was telling him of incoming texts.

**Emre: OMG should’ve never told Nuri abi the restaurant’s name. He and Auba are trying to hide behind a newspaper rn.**

**Emre: Please don’t run away.**

**Emre: Promise they’re not always this weird.**

**Emre: Beginning to think they actually might be but they mean well?**

**Emre: I think?**

As he turned the last corner he thought, _boy this is going to be awkward_ but he still grinned to himself because strangely, he was fine with that.


End file.
